


Hunted

by Readerstories



Series: Hannibal Lecter x reader [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Reader-Insert, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2016-01-26
Packaged: 2018-05-16 06:59:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5818642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Readerstories/pseuds/Readerstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Good evening ♥ I do not want to disturb you or something, but can I ask for a story? Maybe (Hannibal x Reader) something like Hannibal wants to kill his victim but in a last minute he will change his decision. I do not know if is it a good suggestion but this really caught my attention. Thank you so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunted

You are running, scared for your life.  You can feel your heart beating faster than it have ever done before, and your breath is coming out louder than you want it to. What you want right now is to be as quiet as possible, but at the same time get to safety as fast as you can. So you don’t stop to catch your breath. You just run, passing door after door. You don’t even try them; you know they will be closed. You are really regretting staying late at the office (again), it is going to cost you your life. You don’t even try to keep up the illusion to yourself. But still you keep running.

Why? To stall the inventible moment of death that awaits you? To feel just a little bit more before vanishing from this world, even if they are a mix of adrenalin, fear and pain? Probably not the best reasons for living, but oh well. You reach the end of the corridor and are confronted with two choices. Either take the elevator or the stairs. You stall for about two seconds before choosing the stairs. There is no way in hell that you will fucking wait for the elevator when you can actually hear your murderer behind you, he too running. You almost leap down the stairs, finding that a small piece of hope forming inside you. If you can just make it down ten floors and out on the street, there is a possibility that you will survive. You hear the man also entering by the door slamming. There is a slight pause, where he thinks about which direction you had gone, up or down.

He chooses down naturally, the only reason you would have gone up would to be to throw yourself of the roof. And with the way you are running he understands that that is not what you are going for. You want to live, however foolish that might be. You can hear his breath too, closer now. It is loud, but not as loud as yours. Even when doing this, he seems to be calm and having control over himself. For a moment you envy him, envy his calmness. But in the next second it is gone, your adrenalin forcing you to focus on other things. Like running down stairs a fast as possible without falling, which it does a horrible job at when you stumble, and crash down onto one of the landings.  

You groan in pain. It doesn’t feel like anything is broken, but that won’t matter soon. The sounds of feet behind you slow down, obviously the owner of the feet heard your crash, and know there is no need to rush anymore. You roll yourself slowly over from laying on your stomach to resting your back against a wall. You look up and even though your vision is going hazy, you can still see the big, whit two on the wall. You close your eyes. The feet come to a stop, but you keep the closed. You expect it to be over soon anyway, and you want to be found with closed eyes.

“You have quite the fighting spirit in you, but still you are defeated by stairs. Curious how things turn out is it not?” you don’t answer him, not even sure you could if you wanted to, you can feel yourself slipping towards unconsciousness. The touch of hand covered in plastic startles you. It even startles you enough to open your eyes. The figure is out of focus and you blink, trying to get him clear.

“Careful, you have got a concussion, not good idea to move much.” You snort, making your head hurt even more.

“Like that matters to you, or me for that matter. I’ll be dead soon anyway.”

“That is for me to decide, not you.” You frown, but can’t do anything more before you are slipping into blackness, where you think you will stay forever.

It turns out he really meant those words he said to you, you realize this when you wake up in a bed, covered in a duvet. It is all surprisingly soft, even the action of putting you there must have been. You had suspected that if you ever where to wake up; it would be on an operating table missing a few limbs, or someplace else equally horrifying. You had not suspected a comfortable bed, covered in a light blue duvet and even a pillow in the same color. You slowly move your arms and legs first. They are all there and there is no acing pain, just the dull throb of several, most likely, huge bruises. You move your head, and it hurts. It’s is like a headache, just worse and more persistent. You move to get up, but only get up about halfway before a shoot of pain from your hip stops you.

You fall back down, not caring that you are making a lot of noise and at the same time alerting the man that tried to murder you (but for some reason put you here???) that you are awake. You try again, this time going slower and gritting your teeth against the pain coming from your hip. When you are sitting upright, you have to check what has happened to your hip. You pull your shirt up (still the same from when you ran) and there is a big bandage there.

“A fast meeting with concrete is seldom a good one.” Your head pop up so fast that you can actually hear a snapping noise from your neck. You let go of your shirt, not really sure what else to do than to stare at the man. Now that you are not jacked up on adrenalin and fear, you can actually manage to get a good look at him. He is tall and actually not that bad looking. He is smartly dressed in a good looking, probably tailored, light blue plaid suit. The color is similar to the one of the duvet that you are halfway sitting on. It’s very different from the plastic suit he wore over a normal suit when he tried to murder you.  He walks closer, and puts his hand into a jacket pocket. You stiffen, expecting a knife, but it’s a small flashlight he pulls out. He takes a hold of your jaw, no plastic on his hand this time. You still stare at him, not willing to back down even when the smartest would be to do so.

“Look at the light please”, he says as he turns the flashlight on and shines into your eyes. You have no choice but to obey, his hand making it impossible to move.

“Your eyes are back to normal, the drugs should be out of your system by now.”

“Drugs?” your voice sounds small, unused.

“They were mostly for the pain, but also for you to not wake up to early.” He puts the flashlight back in his pocket, and straightens up. He turns around and walks over to a chair that you hadn’t seen in a corner.

“Do you have any other questions?” He seems to be at ease; like this is something he has done before. Or that he has done something similar at least. You decide to ask whatever you feel like; not wanting to think about possible disadvantages or overthinking it.

He is surprisingly cooperative to be a person that just where about to murder you a few days ago. That’s the first information you learn about. You had been out for a few days, the fall down the stars and the drugs both having their impacts at your body. His name is Hannibal (weird name, but it fits him), and according to him you are in his house, down in the basement behind a locked door. He doesn’t seem to worry too much about someone coming looking, that much his voice gives. Wherever the other things he tells you are true or not, that you can’t say. He must be a good liar if he is not afraid of getting caught easily.

In the following days he lets you get longer and longer moments outside our room. After two weeks you are allowed to leave your room whenever you want, as long as you don’t leave the house. Hannibal is not always there, but you don’t dare to leave, afraid of what he might do. Ha has not spoken a word of the night he almost killed you, but there is an underlying threat there. He knows he can kill you at any moment whenever he wants, and you know too. So you stay put doing what he tells you.

One of those things are to stay away whenever he has guest over, which happens two-three times a week. Hannibal seems to enjoy cooking, another thing you had learned while living in his house. He is quite good at it too. Sometimes you dare yourself to sneak close enough to hear a little about what they are talking about. Your only way of getting news is limited to what Hannibal speaks about. One time you even hear them start talking about your disappearance, but you quickly leave before you can hear anything more. You suspect Hannibal knows about you listening every time you do, but if he does, he never says anything about it.

It has been four months with Hannibal, and you know it is starting to get bad, you are actually starting to get weirdly fond of him. It is very typical Stockholm syndrome, but you can’t bring yourself to care anymore. Life is pretty easy, since Hannibal have started to trust you more and more, letting you have more freedom over time. You can do anything you want now, just as long as you don’t leave the house or call him when he is working with the FBI. Which you think is fair enough, you don’t want him to be caught anymore. You think he didn’t kill you for a reason, whatever it might be, you want to fulfill that reason.

It has been six months when Hannibal says something that makes you look up from where you are reading the morning newspaper.

“They found your body today.” You look up and meet his eyes.

“Oh?” you say with an eyebrow quirked at him.

“The body was burned up and at the bottom of a lake. It was burned beyond recognition, but the fingerprints were yours.” Hannibal smiles.

“Well, that’s good news I suppose.” You say before going back to your newspaper. There is no more talk about it after that, except a little smile shared between the two of you when you read about it in the newspaper the next day.

Four months later, after being with Hannibal for ten months, you commit your first murder. You had picked the man out at random, just choosing someone to follow after on the street late at night. The kill had been easy, just a knife quickly slipped over the throat from behind. The man dies within minutes, and after that you hang him up after his feet on the railing in the alley you killed him in. The police write it down as beef between mafia at first, since apparently the man was a suspected mafia member. But after the third murder, they understand it was not so. There is a killer on the loose and they don’t know how the killer is doing anything, except from the way he/she are killing them. A knife across the neck, and then he/she hangs the victim after their legs from whatever that is nearest to the murder scene. Where, when, and who seems to be random.

It takes three years and 17 murders before they catch you. You don’t say much, which frustrates them to no end. They set you up with Hannibal as you therapist, not knowing the connection you two have. He was the one that taught you to kill after all.

Your first “official” meeting is in a mental hospital, you sitting in a box that is very much like a cage for humans.

“Hello, my name is Hannibal Lecter and I am your therapist.”

“I should probably have visited someone like you years ago.”

“Is that what you think?” You shrug and smile. “It’s what the people listening to this conversation are thinking.”

“You think there are people listening to this conversation? I assure, no one are. We can talk in peace.”

“I know they are listening to us because I am not stupid. I have murdered 17 people; they wouldn’t just leave you alone in a room with me and the go to take a coffee break.” Hannibal smiles.

“You are indeed smart.” You are pretty sure that you can see something that that look like pride in his eyes. So this was his purpose for you after all.

To no-one’s surprise, you get the death-penalty with no hesitation from the court. Your lawyer said that you should ask for life, but you wouldn’t hear anything of it. You wanted to go out a way that would get noticed. And in this way you will. Your death penalty is to be carried out just five days after you get it. The police and FBI just want it over as soon as possible, trying to make up for all their mistakes and not catching up to you sooner. You have one last conversation with Hannibal the day before you are to be executed.

“How do you feel?” You snort and start to laugh; you actually start to laugh hard enough to start shaking and lean forward.

“That is such a stereotypical therapist question”, you say between laughs. After a while you straighten up and dry tears from your eyes.

“Sorry about that, that was rude of me.” Hannibal says nothing, just watches you. You sigh.

“I guess I feel slightly annoyed that I got caught. I was aiming for a golden number.”

“What number was that?”

“A hundred”, you say with a little smile aimed at Hannibal. In the booth were the people watching you, there is silence and exchanged glances before a mutter of “Holy Jesus.” Even Hannibal shows sing of being astounded, eyes widening and shifting in his chair. You smile at him again.

“You didn’t except that one I suspect?”

“No, I did not. I was somewhat aware of an ambition driving you, but it being this big was unsuspected.” You smile a third time, being in a surprisingly smiley mood even though this is the day before your die.

The next day you get your lethal injection straight into your vein the very next day, at exactly at 2:41 PM. The last conscious thing you do is to smile, looking at the place where the representants from the FBI and Hannibal sits. The papers call it “The victory smile from a dying murderer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Putting all my work from my tumblr on here as well.


End file.
